


A Lesson in Archery

by ScribeofArda



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:32:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeofArda/pseuds/ScribeofArda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil watches Legolas practise archery at three different points in his life. As he watches, he thinks on his son, the darkness covering Mirkwood and the inevitable fight that is to come, and he wonders if their is any hope left for them. Oneshot, please review!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Archery

**Author's Note:**

> Thranduil and Galion watch Legolas practice archery at three different points in his life. In my LOTR universe, Galion did not spend his entire life as a butler, which is probable. Due to the state of Mirkwood, he was probably a warrior for a long time before becoming Thranduil’s butler. His personality may be a bit AU; due to my dislike of writing original characters, I have made him an advisor and friend to Thranduil. 
> 
> The first time, Legolas is the equivalent of a twelve year old child, having just received his first bow. In the second shot, Legolas is the equivalent of an eighteen year old human. The third shot takes place a month after The Battle of the Five Armies. In my version of events, Legolas is badly injured in the battle and in the third shot, has only just recovered enough to pick up a bow.
> 
> Disclaimer: Nope. Nada. Not a single little bit. Don’t own it all- I am just playing in Tolkien’s sandbox.

A Lesson in Archery

A shadow stood within darker shadows at the edge of the field. In the middle of the field stood an archery target. A young elfling, his long blond hair simply braided and tied back, stood in front of the target, concentrating. Beside him stood an older elf, his deep brown hair pulled back in warrior plaits that the young elfling did not have. He crouched down, carefully moving the elfling’s arms and correcting his position as the young elf aimed an arrow at the target. The shadow watched.

Another shadow joined the first at the edge of the field. Thranduil turned and smiled at the dark haired elf that joined him, watching the archery practice.

“How is he doing, Sire?” asked the elf, smiling slightly as he watched the arrow fly from the small practice bow and hit the inner circles of the target.

“You tell me, Galion, you tell me,” murmured Thranduil. He smiled as he watched his son turn happily to the archery master next to him. “As a parent I am biased.”

“Is this his first archery lesson?”

Thranduil nodded. Galion was one of his captains and had served him for a long time, since the first battle at Dagorlad, when Thranduil had taken up command of the army. He guessed that Galion was the closest thing he had to a friend.

“He is doing well, my Lord,” remarked Galion, as another arrow hit the target. “It is not often that an elfling as young as him will hit the target in the first lesson. Indeed, he is a lot younger than most when they start their training. Did you make the bow?”

“Aye, I did,” said Thranduil, a hint of pride in his voice. “Legolas had been watching the guards practice their archery and decided to try it himself. I caught him with one of their bows, and thought it safer to make him his own, small bow, and try archery under supervision.” He chuckled. “He was so excited this morning. I could hardly keep him still.”

Galion smiled as they watched Legolas practice. “He will have a great deal of skill with the bow, my Lord.”

“He did not inherit that from me, Galion. You know I am a mediocre shot at best. I have always preferred the sword.”

“Maybe so, but he has inherited a great deal from you, my Lord. Obviously your looks, though he may grow to be smaller and more lithe than you are.” Galion chuckled. “But he has your hair, my Lord.”

“Anything else?” asked Thranduil dryly.

“Well, your determination,” noted Galion as he watched Legolas frown in concentration. “Although some could call it stubbornness- not me, Sire!” he added as Thranduil glared at him. The King chuckled, motioning for Galion to continue. “He has your mind as well, Sire, and unfortunately,” he noted, as Legolas growled under his breath and stalked forwards; one arrow had gone wildly astray. “Unfortunately, Sire, he has also inherited your annoying lack of patience.”

It was a sign of how much Thranduil was absorbed in his son’s archery practice that he only chuckled at Galion’s comment. “I’m afraid you are right, Galion. It could be an interesting time as he grows up. I was just the same.”

Galion smiled wryly. “You were, my Lord. I have heard the stories.”

“Brilliant,” growled Thranduil. He sighed as he watched. “All Legolas wants to be is a warrior. It’s all he ever talks about.”  
“Do you want him to be a warrior?”

“Ai, I don’t know.” Thranduil ran a hand over his face. “It doesn’t matter what I want. These dark times will demand a warrior of my son. He has no other choice. I suppose I should be glad this is what he wants to do.”

“Be glad, my Lord, that he will not have to fight the darkness for a while. Your son can wait; other will fight it until he is ready. And be glad, Sire, that when his time comes, he will have been trained to the best of his ability. Be glad he wants to protect that which he loves, my Lord.”

“Aye,” murmured Thranduil. A cry of delight drew both him and Galion out of their thoughts and they watched as Legolas jumped up and down on the spot, his small, intricately carved bow still held in his hand. An arrow stuck out of the centre of the target. Thranduil grinned, pride shown clearly on his face. He looked over at Galion.

“Aye, I am glad.”

0-o-0-o-0

“Thranduil!”

The King turned, motioning for his captain and friend to be quiet. He pointed towards the archery field.

Galion nodded, and came to Thranduil’s side. “I found you! I have been looking for you for a long time now.”

Thranduil smiled slightly. “Then you are also distracted today, Galion. You know I come here to watch if I need to take my mind off of things.” And today, there had been a lot of things happening. The shadow from Dol Guldur was spreading, and today a border patrol from the southern reaches of their territory had limped back to the stronghold. None of them had escaped uninjured during their forays into enemy territory. As it was, three of the patrol, including one of Thranduil’s senior captains, were in critical condition in the healing wards. And they had brought dispiriting news.

Thranduil sighed. “The darkness is deepening,” he murmured. “It is getting harder and harder to maintain our realm in the south. We need more warriors.”

“There is little we can do to speed up training, and you know this, Sire. We simply have to do the best with what we have.”

“I know, Galion, I know.” Thranduil turned back to the archery field. He watched intently, and Galion noticed some of the worry on his face disappear as he watched his son’s archery practice.

Legolas stood in the middle of the green. Though his mind was fully grown and sharp, the mind of a captain, his body was still thin and willowy. He had not yet reached maturity, and was still honing his skills. Mainly, the bow.

Today, there were no targets. Instead, his archery master stood opposite him, a cloth bag at his feet. He drew out a clay ball from the bag, tossing it from hand to hand. Though Legolas was standing still, Thranduil could tell that he was alert, his eyes constantly watching the clay ball.

In an instant, the archery master tossed the ball high in the air. Legolas spun; an arrow nocked, sighted the ball and fired. It shattered into thousands of tiny fragments. Thranduil nodded in approval.

“He improves every day, my Lord,” muttered Galion. “Your son has tremendous skill. He will be a warrior soon.”

“I know.”

“You sound nervous, Sire.”

“Nervous?” snapped Thranduil. “Of course I am nervous! You saw the patrol that came back today. You feel the spreading darkness in Mirkwood. How could I not be nervous? Soon I will have to send my son into this darkness to fight. It does not matter much that Legolas wants to do this, that he has always wanted to fight. I still feel nervous. But I have no choice. I cannot keep my son back from battle and then ask my people to send their sons into danger. No, Legolas has to fight.” Thranduil ended with a sigh. “Sorry, Galion.”  
“There is no need, my Lord,” Galion said smoothly. “I understand your worry perfectly.”

Thranduil shook his head. “He has had to grow up so fast, Galion,” he murmured as he watched Legolas shoot down another clay ball. “And he must become so much more. Legolas is the Prince. He will become a captain, a commander. He will lead our people in the darkest times, Galion, and sometimes I worry it will be too much for him.”

Galion snorted. “You fret unnecessarily, Sire. Legolas is one of the brightest elves I know. He will not be conquered by the darkness. You know that.” He smiled as Legolas shot down another clay ball, this one having been thrown literally at his head. “He will also make a formidable warrior.”

“I know he will,” murmured Thranduil. “And I know I fret.” He chuckled. “But he is my joy in life, and I am old. I am allowed to worry.”  
The two elves watched for a while in silence as more and more clay balls filled the air. Legolas spun, his long golden hair swinging about his shoulders. The volley of balls ceased, and Legolas looked around. He grimaced in displeasure; a few clay balls lay on the grass, whole and unblemished. He picked them up and handed them back. A few words from the archery master made him chuckle, and the scowl disappeared.

Galion smirked. “He still retains little patience, I see.” He looked at Thranduil. “He expects too much of himself, Sire. Failure will be a hard lesson for him to learn.”

“And yet he must,” mused Thranduil. “For we all fail at times, especially in these dark days. If he expects to succeed in every mission, he will learn a hard lesson.”

“Aye,” mused Galion. “Yet Legolas does not have a trace of arrogance about him; if he finds it hard to accept a failure, it will be because he loves his home and does not want to see it fall any further.” He smiled as Legolas shot down more clay balls, these ones being tossed at more and more difficult angles.

Thranduil sighed as he watched. “There are dark times ahead, Galion. The shadow will only spread from Dol Guldur, and our strength is waning. There is a storm coming, and I am unsure as to whether the woods can stay standing.”

Galion chuckled, making Thranduil look at him in surprise. “Sire, you worry far too much. Yes, there is darkness here, but there is also light. Look at your son, my Lord. Yes, he is still young. Yes, he is still innocent; though he knows of the darkness in Mirkwood, he does not fully understand it yet. But despite that, he is strong and he is brave.” Galion chuckled again. “So stop fretting, Sire. The elves are not going anywhere.”

Thranduil smiled. “Hannon le, Galion. Sometimes I can grow a little despairing, don’t you think?”

Galion grinned. “I am not going to answer that truthfully, Sire,” he murmured. “But have hope in your son. Believe in him.”

0-o-0-o-0

“How is he?”

Thranduil smiled as Galion joined him in the shadows surrounding the archery field. Today it was nearly empty. Only one archery target stood in the centre.

“The wounds were severe, Galion, and it has been less than a month since the battle. This is the first time he has taken up his bow. He hasn’t shot yet.”

Galion nodded in understanding and turned to watch the field. Legolas stood in the middle of the green, his bow hanging in his hand. The other hand was gently massaging his shoulder. Thranduil could just glimpse loose white bandages beneath his tunic. They were more a gentle reminder from the healers to Legolas- a reminder that he had been injured. They had been accompanied with a fiercer verbal reminder not, under any circumstances, to overdo it.

Thranduil watched apprehensively. It had been just under a month since The Battle of the Five Armies, where his son had been gravely wounded. Thranduil felt again an icy hand gripping his heart at the memories, of when Legolas had finally been brought in, bloody and unconscious, and the subsequent battle for his life. Legolas had only just recovered enough to begin archery practice again.  
“He will be alright,” murmured Thranduil. “Legolas may be slightly reckless when it comes to his health, but he would never do this if he didn’t know he was ready.”

“Only slightly reckless, my Lord? He takes after you.”

Thranduil chuckled. “Point taken, Galion.”

“I only jest, Sire. To put it bluntly, if Legolas were reckless, he would not be here in front of us right now. He has served as a warrior for many hundreds of years now. He has lost things in this bitter war, we all have. But he has survived.”

Thranduil nodded, distracted as Legolas lifted his bow and flexed it. He seemed to find little problems, and fitted an arrow to the string. Pausing to adjust his stance, he raised his bow and aimed at the target. Thranduil held his breath in anticipation.

The arrow flew true, burying itself deep in the bullseye of the target. Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief and grinned at Galion.  
“That has lightened my heart more than anything else could, Galion.”

“I know, Sire.” No more words were said; the two elves watched Legolas shoot again and again. Thranduil watched his son shoot, only a slight stiffness betraying the now healed wounds. His hair was braided with warrior plaits; it had been like that for a very long time now. Thranduil felt a sudden pride well up in him. Despite everything, as Galion had said, Legolas had survived.

A part of Thranduil remembered the small elfling that had been so excited by his first lesson in archery. He supposed he should mourn the loss of his son’s innocence, the transformation from a young child to a grown warrior. But he knew that Legolas would have it no other way. He had been a captain for a long time now, a commander among his people. No, Thranduil told himself firmly. He would not mourn the loss of his son’s innocence, for with that loss had come a determination, a spark that had kindled so many fires. Somehow, Legolas had given him hope.

With one last smile, Galion slipped away, leaving Thranduil standing alone, watching. Legolas dropped his hand as he let loose the last arrow. He flexed his shoulders, and then turned, looking into the shadows.

“I know you are there Adar.”

Smiling, Thranduil stepped out of the trees and made his way to his son’s side. “It has been long since I was able to hide successfully from you, ion-nin.”

Legolas chuckled, but a grimace crossed his face when he flexed his shoulders. Thranduil frowned. “What is it? Have you overdone it?”  
“No, Adar, I haven’t.” Legolas rolled his eyes. “It is stiff, that is all.”

“Let me look.” With gentle fingers Thranduil pulled back the bandages, examining the healing scars across his son’s pale skin. He smiled. “You were right. The wound has healed nicely.”

Legolas smiled. “I told you Adar.” He began to walk over to the target to retrieve his arrows, and Thranduil watched him go.

In his heart, the King knew the shadow had not been vanquished. He knew they only had a brief respite before it grew darker than ever. Soon, very soon, it would all come to an end. For good or evil, he could not see, but he knew that soon the great war of this age would be upon them, and everything would change.

Yet Thranduil was not as troubled as a King under the shadow might be. He had some sort of hope, some belief in the endurance of light. Maybe this was a naïve belief, but he knew now that wounds can heal, that even the most gravely injured can come back fighting. Maybe, this wounded, limping world would be able to make one last stand.

The End


End file.
